


Funny How Love Is

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Mother to Son [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Fluff, Queen II, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: Roger heads off on the UK leg of the Queen II tour, and things are much harder than you thought they would be without him.





	Funny How Love Is

**Author's Note:**

> Umm this was going to be like 4k words and then it turned into 7.5k soooo my bad for not posting earlier, and also for not being willing to split it. I had a lot of thoughts.
> 
> If you haven't read the previous parts of this series first, please do! Won't make a lick of sense otherwise.

An enormous crash boomed from the main floor of the house, waking you from a deep sleep. Groggily, you sat up in bed, listening for hints as to what had made the sound. After a minute, you heard nothing but the ticking of your alarm clock. You carefully clambered out of bed, shivering as your feet touched the cold hardwood. From your door, you saw that the lights were off downstairs, as you had left them when you went to bed. Corin’s bedroom door was shut, and his tiny snores were audible when you leaned your head against it.

“Oh, fuck,” a voice groaned downstairs, followed by the creak of floorboards. 

“Roger?” you called out, holding the railing for support as you descended the stairs. 

“Fuck,” he moaned again. The switch for the kitchen lights was at the bottom of the stairs, and you were glad you turned them on instead of relying on the faint light coming through the kitchen window. Roger was lying in a heap on the floor beside the large, tin rubbish bin, which must have been the source of the noise. 

“Roger, what’s happened?” you asked, stepping over him. As you knelt by his side, you were hit with the unmistakable scent of liquor. He was drunk. 

“Think I tripped,” he slurred, reaching out for where he thought you were. He bumped his hand against the wall instead. 

“Certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?” you replied, shaking your head. He and the boys had gone out to the pub for the evening in celebration of the news that their next album would be released in less than a month. Clearly they had gone a bit overboard. 

“You should—see the other guy,” he managed to say before vomiting onto the floor. 

“Great,” you sighed. With a mighty effort, you lifted and supported Roger up the stairs, carrying nearly his entire body weight into the bathroom. He went straight into the tub, clothes and all. As the freezing cold water from the showerhead hit him, Roger screeched, ripping his sunglasses from his face. 

“Bloody hell, Y/N, what’re you doing?” he gasped, staring up at you. 

“Making sure you don’t choke in a pool of your own vomit, you goon,” you smirked. “I’ll put some dry pyjamas outside the door for you.” 

In the half year or so you’d been together, Roger had only come home drunk once or twice, always after a wild night with the boys. As annoyed as he was in the moment about the cold shower, you knew he’d feel worse in the morning when he remembered that you’d had to drag him up the stairs and clean up after his mess. He really never intended to get smashed, but with Freddie’s encouragement and John’s endurance, it was easy to get carried away. 

Thankfully, it only took a few minutes to deal with the vomit. By the time you were ready to go back to bed, Roger was washed up. He lay shivering on his side of the bed, curled up in the fetal position. You set a glass of water on his nightstand table, and set an empty ice cream pail on his pillow. 

“How’s your head feeling, love?” you asked, leaning down to kiss his damp hair. Roger let out a long groan as if he were a deflating balloon. 

“You know very well how it’s feeling,” he grumbled, pulling the blankets closer. “Feels bloody awful.” You returned to your side of the bed and crawled under the blankets. 

“Drink up. There’s water next to you, and a bucket in case you get nauseous again.” You reached out and grabbed his hands, holding them between your own in an attempt to warm his up. “Fun night otherwise?” you asked. Roger’s eyes were clenched shut, and his teeth chattered violently. 

“At the time, yes,” he mumbled, shifting closer to you for warmth. You were glad that Corin was finally sleeping in his own bed; this wasn’t the most conducive situation for sharing a bed with a child who liked to kick and thrash about in his sleep. 

“You’ll warm up soon,” you assured him. “Let me know if I should grab another blanket.” Relishing the opportunity to be the ‘big spoon’ for once, you tucked yourself up against Roger’s bare back, gently kissing the back of his neck before closing your eyes for the night. 

* * * * * 

“Good morning, Daddy!” Corin sang, climbing onto Roger’s back. His fingernails dug into your boyfriend’s skin, leaving small crescent indentations. “Time for breakfast!” The dozing man turned his head to the side with great effort. 

“What’s that?” Roger grunted, squinting in the sunlight. Corin lowered his face down until his nose nearly touched Roger’s. 

“Breakfast, Daddy. Remember?” Corin whispered eagerly. “Mum said we can eat ice cream for breakfast because we’re celebrating!” 

“Ah yes,” Roger nodded, recalling the conversation from earlier in the week. “Do you think she’d let us eat it in bed?” Corin’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. He vaulted off the bed and zoomed down the stairs to ask. 

You stood at the kitchen counter, preparing ice cream sundaes for the occasion. Roger didn’t leave for another two weeks, but later that afternoon, Corin’s paternal grandparents were picking him up for a two-week holiday in Blackpool. This was something he looked forward to every year, and you were glad he was able to build a relationship with your late husband’s family in his absence. 

“Mum, can we eat ice cream in bed?” Corin shouted from the stairs. “Daddy looks like he’s tired.” 

“You can eat in bed if you promise Daddy won’t spill,” you called up. “Otherwise he’ll have to do the laundry himself.” 

“Okay!” he replied happily. As you added the finishing touches to the sundaes (sprinkles and a maraschino cherry atop each), the phone rang. A bit of hot fudge had dripped onto your finger, and you licked it off before using that hand to pick up the phone. 

“Taylor-O’Connor residence,” you answered politely. 

“Y/N, it’s Dan,” your brother responded stiffly. 

“To what do I owe the honour of your call after nearly two months of quiet on the western front?” you asked sarcastically. 

“We’re at the hospital. Meredith’s had the baby,” he informed you. “Lovely little girl born late last night.” 

“A girl!” you smiled, putting aside the general contempt you held for your brother. “How lovely, Dan. What’re you calling her?” 

“Eleanor Margaret,” he said slowly, shifting the receiver away from his mouth. “That’s what we agreed on, right, dear?” You heard your sister-in-law’s tinkling voice in the background, giving Dan a few numbers to share (such as the baby’s weight), which he instantly forgot and didn’t relay to you. 

“Beautiful. Congrats to you and Meredith,” you said sincerely. “Thank you for letting us know. Corin will be thrilled to hear he’s got a new cousin!” 

“If you wanted to come visit, Mer will be here for a few days yet. Monitoring her blood pressure or something,” Dan said vaguely. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the company.” 

“Corin’s on his way to Blackpool with Richard’s parents this evening,” you said, peering over at the calendar hung from the wall, “but I’m sure I could swing by before I open the shop tomorrow morning. Rog can open if I’m running late.” 

“When’s he leaving for his tour?” Meredith asked, raising her voice so you could hear. 

“Two weeks,” you groaned, “so you can bet you’ll be seeing plenty of me in the next 6 months.” Daniel relayed your response. He sounded relieved, probably because he was already overwhelmed by the idea of getting up at all hours with a newborn. Your help would be much appreciated. 

“You’ll get through it just fine, Dan,” you assured him. “Just call if you ever need help.” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said sincerely. “I’ll let you go now, I’m sure Corin’s waiting on breakfast or something.” As he said it, your son ripped down the staircase, jumping from the third stair to the bottom. As his feet hit the floor, the glassware in the cupboard rattled violently. 

“Speak of the devil,” you smiled, shaking your head as Corin somersaulted across the hardwood, resembling a wood louse as he rolled head over heel. “Love you all, Dan. See you tomorrow.” You hung up the phone and placed the final touches on the slightly melted ice cream. Corin grabbed his own, and you carried the other two bowls carefully up the stairs. Roger had sat up in bed, propping himself up against the headboard. 

“Doesn’t this look delicious?” he asked, placing a kiss of thanks on your cheek as you handed his bowl to him. 

“There’s three flavours in there, so I’m sure it’ll be an experience,” you nodded, lying across the end of the bed. Corin situated himself beside Roger. 

“Cheers, Daddy,” Corin announced, holding a cherry on the end of his spoon. 

“Cheers, pal,” Roger chuckled, tapping his cherry-topped spoon against his son’s. 

“So, Cor,” you mumbled through a mouthful of strawberry ice cream, “what things are you looking forward to doing with Nana and Grandad these next few weeks?” Corin dumped the cherry on his spoon into his mouth, nearly sending it directly into his windpipe. He chewed thoughtfully, and his eyes lit up as he remembered the conversation he’d had over the phone with his grandmother earlier that week. 

“Grandad said we’ve got tickets to see Liverpool at Everton!” he squealed, bouncing up and down on the bed. “I’ve got to remember to bring my Liverpool shirt, Mum!” Placing his half-empty bowl of ice cream on your bedside table, he hopped down from the bed and raced to his bedroom, making a significant racket as he dug through his wardrobe. 

“I’m really going to miss him,” Roger sighed. “Last time we toured, I didn’t have any attachments, anyone important back home. This one will be much harder.” 

“Whenever he goes to visit Richard’s family, I have a good cry every morning,” you admitted. “Those are the only days Cor and I have ever been apart in his life.” 

“Will you cry every day I’m gone?” Roger teased. “Will you weep prettily into a handkerchief and sit at the window, awaiting my return? 

“Every waking moment,” you moaned dramatically, holding your hand against your forehead in a mock fainting spell. “Whatever did I do before I met you, Roger?” After swallowing his last bite of ice cream, Roger picked himself up and crawled down to the end of the bed. He kissed your cheek sweetly, and you giggled as his cold lips touched your skin. 

“I’ll miss you every day,” he murmured, suddenly serious. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I don’t know that I can go that long without you.” 

“Don’t be silly, Rog,” you scolded, sitting up. “You’ll have a marvellous time, smashing drums up and sleeping in until the late afternoon. All the things you love.” 

“Not all the things,” he frowned, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. “The things I love most will be cozied up in a corner bookshop right here in London, drinking tea and insisting upon ice cream being served for breakfast.” Against your will, a single tear rolled down your cheek, splashing against Roger’s hand. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, sniffling as more tears poured from your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional all of the sudden.” 

“It’s only a temporary goodbye, love,” he promised you, pulling you against his chest. He held you tightly as you cried. “Corin will be back before you know it, and I’ll be home again when we play in London at the end of March. That’s only a month from the time I leave.” Corin’s feet slapped against the wooden floors, announcing his arrival before he reached the door. Oblivious to your tears, he ran to the end of the bed, clutching a balled-up piece of red cloth in his hands. 

“Found it!” he called out proudly, holding the wrinkled jersey up for you both to see. It was probably two sizes too small for him, and the idea of your son putting it on made both you and Roger break into fits of giggling. “What’s so funny?” Corin asked, climbing onto the bed. He nuzzled beneath Roger’s arm, joining you in his embrace. 

“You’re so funny,” Roger told him. “Mum and I are lucky to have a little guy as funny and smart and strong as you.” 

“Don’t forget fast,” Corin reminded him. “I’m super fast, you know.” 

“Can’t forget that,” Roger agreed, pulling you and Corin tight against him. 

“What a sweet little family we have,” you said, looking up into Roger’s soft blue eyes. “Don’t you think, Rog?” 

“I’m the luckiest bastar—ahem, fellow, around,” he smiled, revelling in the joy of being with people he loved. 

* * * * * 

As Roger had predicted, the two weeks Corin spent at Blackpool flew by. You managed to clean the whole house nearly twice over, as well as dust off all the shelves in the shop. Between rehearsals with the band and meetings with the tour crew, Roger put a new layer of paint on the kitchen walls. You’d hated the wallpaper your parents put up in their later years, and after hearing your complaints a number of times, Roger set out to rectify the problem. Borrowing a pair of John’s denim dungarees, he pulled the paper down and coated the walls with a cheery shade of yellow. 

“And I thought those were sexy when John wore them,” you had commented slyly as you watched him work. Checking to ensure the curtain between the shop and the kitchen was pulled closed, Roger unbuttoned the straps of the dungarees in a mock striptease, letting the bib fall down to his waist. His little show ended with you pinned against the kitchen wall, your skirt bunched around your waist (much to your delight). These displays of affection weren’t possible with Corin around, so it was nice to have a bit of fun while he was away. 

The day finally came for Roger to leave on tour. The evening before, he had deliberated for hours on what clothes to pack. His suitcase had been open on the floor for nearly a week, and despite your nagging, he hadn’t put more than a few pairs of socks in it until that day. Now, fully packed, he stood on the pavement beside the street, waiting for the boys to pick him up. 

“Now, don’t worry about me even a bit,” he instructed you, looking down at you through his dark sunglasses. “I’ll call whenever I’m able, I promise.” You fussed with the thread of a button on his shirt, trying to be helpful in some small way. “Y/N, I know this is hard,” Roger acknowledged, pulling you tightly against his chest. But remember, it’s only one month, and you’ll have plenty of distractions.” 

“The bed will be so lonely,” you thought aloud as you leaned against him. 

“Corin’s promised to keep my side warm for me,” Roger smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Before you know it, I’ll be home, spilling ice cream on the sheets and tripping on the stairs.” You laughed through your tears, remembering when his sock had slid on the hardwood stairs the day before, depositing him at the bottom much the same way you’d found him after the record launch party. 

“I’ll have Queen II playing non-stop in the loft,” you promised, “even if the customers get sick of it.” Just then, the van pulled around the corning, stopping in front of the shop with Brian at the wheel. 

“Afternoon, folks,” he said, his arm dangling from the window. “Enjoying the weather this balmy February day, I hope.” 

“Bring him back in one piece, Brian,” you warned, standing on your tiptoes to kiss Brian’s cheek. “And Deac, take it easy on the vodka. It’s still a fun night if you don’t throw up.” John’s nasally laugh rang out from the back seat. 

“Any words for me, darling?” Freddie asked, sliding the van door open so Roger could shove his suitcase in. 

“Be your amazing, fabulous self,” you replied, accepting a warm embrace from him. “And call Mary every once in a while, or she’ll kill you.” As he hugged you, you inhaled the warm, familiar scents of his mother’s kitchen – Mrs. Bulsara insisted that all of you, Corin included, come for supper every two weeks. The reminder that these dinners would be postponed until the boys’ return made you sad, and you felt your eyes begin to sting. 

“Now, now, don’t make her cry, Fred,” Roger scolded. “She’ll get dehydrated and whither up like all the plants she’s murdered in the shop.” 

“That wasn’t my fault,” you pouted. “How was I supposed to know that they needed to be watered every day?” Roger leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, preventing you from defending yourself about the plant business. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, holding him as thought he might stay if only you were strong enough to keep him there. 

“Be sure to pop in to the doctor for a pregnancy test, now,” Brian advised after Roger had released you. “I wasn’t spying, but I’m sure a goodbye like that could result in a blonde, blue-eyed baby Taylor.” 

“Shut up, Brian,” Roger frowned, rubbing his hand against his friend’s curly mane through the open window. Brian shouted in protest, but the rumble of the van’s engine cut off the sound as it roared to life. 

“Love you, Rog,” you said as he clambered into the van. 

“Love you too,” he called back before sliding the door shut. The van shuddered as Brian shifted gears, and you stood on the sidewalk until they were out of sight. After locking the shop door, you sat down at one of the tables. The place was eerily quiet without Roger singing to himself while washing dishes, or Corin shouting at the football announcer of during a sports radio broadcast. The boys were the colour and sound and depth in your life; without them around, everything felt bland and deafeningly silent. 

“Might as well go visit Meredith and the baby,” you thought after moping around for a few minutes. “No use sitting here.” Corin wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon, so you decided to put together a freezer meal for your brother and sister-in-law, and take it over to them. You threw together a casserole using a recipe given to you by Freddie’s mother, which you figured would add a bit of healthy pizzazz to Meredith’s life, which had lately consisted of soothing a crying baby, changing diapers, rocking the baby to sleep, and attempting to fit in an hour or two of sleep when she could find the time. 

Casserole in hand, you climbed into your small car and headed toward Dan and Meredith’s house. Thanks to Dan’s well-paying job and Meredith’s family wealth (her father was CEO of a major UK corporation), they could afford a decent-sized place in Chelsea. Your sister-in-law had never commented on the peeling paint on your walls, or suggested that maybe the roof should be re-shingled, but when you parked outside their terraced house in one of London’s most posh neighbourhoods, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about the state of your own house. 

You hadn’t even pressed the doorbell yet when Meredith yanked the door open to welcome you in. Baby Eleanor was wailing in her mother’s arms, and by the look of distress on Meredith’s face, you could tell it had already been a long day. 

“Thank god,” she sighed, leaning her head against the wall while you removed your shoes. “She’s been screaming all night, and I can’t figure out what’s wrong. Dan was in such a mood when he left for work this morning, but it wasn’t like I didn’t try to calm her.” The skin beneath her eyes was dark purple, and her face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She looked terrible. 

“Darling, why are you holding the baby like that?” you asked, scooping your newborn niece into your arms and rocking her. Meredith had been carrying Eleanor oddly, holding her about a foot away from her body. 

“My…well, my…” she indicated her breasts, not wanting to sound ill mannered. Meredith had been raised very prim and proper by her parents, and was not one to talk about such things. 

“Your breasts,” you nodded, “what about them?” 

“They hurt so much,” she grimaced, “and they’re swollen and red. My milk’s not coming at all, and I nearly scream with pain if I try to feed her.” 

“You’re sweating, Mer,” you noted, holding Eleanor with one arm and feeling your sister-in-law’s forehead with the other hand. “And you’re burning up. Let’s have a look then, shall we?” Meredith’s eyes went wide with horror at the suggestion. 

“I can’t just…take them out,” she gasped. “That would be…” 

“Quite normal, dear,” you shrugged. “Once you’ve had a baby, you tend to get over things like that. And besides, we’re in the privacy of your own home, and it’s not as if I’m going to take photos and post them around the neighbourhood or something.” Eleanor had calmed down some, but you held her against your shoulder and continued to bounce her to see if it would help. “After I had Corin, I got an infection in my breasts, mastitis,” you confided. “It hurt like hell, and it made feeding him nearly impossible. If that’s what you’ve got, you’ll have to go to the doctor for antibiotics and it’ll clear up in a few days.” 

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt…” she frowned, still looking unsure. With a sigh, she undid her bra and lifted her shirt, revealing exactly what you had thought. 

“Looks like mastitis to me,” you confirmed. “For now, let’s try using a cool pack to relieve the pain. When Dan comes home, I can take you to the women’s clinic, where they can help you better.” You encouraged her to sit on the sofa while you fetched a bag of frozen peas from the icebox. Eleanor’s crying had finally resolved itself, to Meredith’s relief. 

“Now what’s this about baby crying all night?” you asked, settling in beside her on the sofa. 

“Well, I’ve tried everything,” Meredith explained, “feeding, changing her diaper, holding her different ways – nothing works.” As she said this, Eleanor started to fuss again. 

“Have you been burping her after she eats?” 

“Trying, but she just spits all the milk back up,” Meredith told you. “Y/N, I feel so defeated today. I didn’t think it would be so…” 

“Hard?” you smiled knowingly. “They always say being a mother comes naturally, but not everyone feels that way. Corin was colicky for months, and I tried everything under the sun to make him stop crying.” You removed the receiving blanket wrapped around your niece and laid her on your knees. “Let’s try this.” Gently, you rubbed her tummy in circular motions, then grasped her legs and moved them as if she were riding a bicycle. After a minute, the gas trapped in her stomach escaped, relieving the pressure that was causing her pain. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Meredith asked, watching you carefully. 

“Mum was a midwife in Poplar after the war,” you reminded her. “I was lucky to have her around when Corin was born. I'm sorry she couldn't be here for you, too. She'd love to meet her little granddaughter.” 

““I can’t imagine trying to take care of a baby after you’ve lost your parents and your husband.” The memory, though a few years old, felt fresh in your mind as you held little Eleanor in your lap. Your parents had both passed in the first six months of Corin's life, and Richard three months later. "I feel like I can barely do it with all the help I have," she sighed. 

“I made it through because I had to,” you shrugged. “I was sad, of course, but Corin needed me to be his mum. Just like Eleanor needs you. With Dan working so much, I’m sure it’s been a real challenge to get the sleep you need, but there are plenty of experienced women living all around you that would be more than happy to help out.” 

“Mrs. Banting from next door brought over a bagful of onesies she had from when her kids were babies,” Meredith shared. “And my cousin Marie gave me tips on how to pin cloth diapers well.” As she watched Eleanor’s eyelids flutter with fatigue, Meredith leaned onto your shoulder. Both were asleep in minutes, leaving you stuck in the middle, but you didn’t mind. The conversation had taken your mind off of Roger leaving, and had allowed you to relive memories of Corin’s first few months that you had locked away after your parents’ and husband’s passing. That was reward enough for lending Meredith a hand. 

* * * * * 

The next morning, Richard’s parents returned Corin to the house. You offered to brew a pot of tea or coffee, but as always, they politely declined. Since your husband’s death, his parents had kept their distance from you. It was unclear whether they felt you were to blame, or whether being around you just brought back too many memories. You’d known Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor since you were in primary school, and now they felt like complete strangers. 

“We had lots of fun,” Corin assured you when asked about his trip. “Liverpool and Everton didn’t score at the game, but Grandpa got me a new shirt! And we went to the marine museum to look at boats.” You listened carefully to all his stories, no matter how long it took him to get to the point. Without a doubt, you had missed all his quirks and Corin-isms while he was away. 

“I know Nana and Grandad love spending time with you, Cor,” you said, gently pressing your son’s small hand between your own hands. “I wish you could visit them more often.” It almost felt unreal that he was back in the house, curled up in his pillow nest in the loft – his trip had felt so long to you, especially added to the stress of Roger leaving on tour. 

“Mum, can I ask you something?” Corin asked abruptly, changing the subject. 

“Of course, buddy,” you nodded. The two of you were curled up beside each other in the loft. As you had promised, Queen’s new album was playing quietly in the background. 

“Daddy’s going to come back, right?” he wondered, looking up at you. His eyes, a warm, dark brown, watched you for any hint of an untruth. Somehow, Corin always knew when someone was telling a lie. 

“Daddy, as in Roger, or Richard?” 

“Daddy Roger,” he confirmed. “He went away for just a little bit, right? Not forever like other Daddy?” 

“Just for a few months,” you assured him, pulling your son onto your lap. “He’s doing some shows with Uncle Fred, Uncle Deac and Uncle Brian. We’ll even get to see them play when they come to London in a few weeks!” Corin breathed a sigh of relief, happy that he had received a concrete timeline for Roger’s return. He would be watching the calendar carefully, counting the days as he always had – days until Christmas, until Halloween, until his birthday. 

“If you listen carefully,” you whispered, pointing at the record player, “I bet you’ll hear Daddy’s voice.” 

“Daddy sings AND plays drums?” Corin looked at you, amazed. 

“Indeed he does,” you smiled. “He’s a smart fella.” For the remainder of the album, Corin remained silent and still beside you. Every few minutes, you glanced over to see if he had fallen asleep, but his eyes were open, his mouth agape as he listened for Roger’s voice, soaring above Freddie’s. 

Later that evening, you tucked Corin in on Roger’s side of the bed. Instead of snuggling his blankie, he had gone into the closet and pulled down one of the shirts Roger had left behind. 

“Smells like Daddy,” he informed you, hugging it tightly. 

“Sounds like you really miss Dad, hey buddy?” you asked, kissing his forehead. “I miss him, too.” 

“Do you think he misses me?” Corin queried. 

“I reckon he misses you very much,” you assured him. “It’s been quiet around here without both of you. But in just a month, Daddy will be home for a little while before he goes to America.” Corin closed his tired eyes, but smiled at the idea of seeing Roger again soon. As soon as you had crawled beneath the blankets beside him, the phone rang beside you. 

“Taylor-O’Connors,” you answered, speaking softly so Corin could rest. 

“Have you got a Taylor there I don’t know about?” Roger asked. His voice was nearly drowned out by voices and instruments in the background. 

“Rog,” you murmured, “you’ve made it safely to the first stop?” 

“Indeed. First show is tonight in Blackpool.” 

“Tonight?” you exclaimed. “Rog, it’s already 7:00, what time does it start?” 

“7:30. I’m just backstage, and I wanted to make sure Corin made it home alright. Is he still awake?” 

“Can I talk to Daddy?” Corin’s sleepy voice mumbled beside you, answering Roger’s question. 

“He’s right here. Can he say hello?” 

“Absolutely. Put him on for a minute, love,” Roger said, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise around him. Corin grabbed the phone from you, holding it with both of his small hands. 

“Hi Daddy, where are you?” he asked, yawning into the receiver. After listening for a moment, his face lit up. Matching Roger’s volume, he yelled, “I was just in Blackpool yesterday! We must have swapped places, Dad!” Their conversation continued at this volume for another minute or two before Corin said goodbye and passed the phone back. As you held the receiver to your ear, you heard Roger shout at someone that he would be there in a minute. 

“Get going then, Mr. Taylor,” you scolded. You’d barely been able to say anything, but you certainly hadn’t expected him to call before a show. 

“Sorry, darling,” he apologized. “Just wanted to say goodnight to Cor now that he’s home. Can I call back after the show?” 

“No, just call another day when you have some time,” you insisted. “Knock ‘em dead tonight, and try not to drink yourself blind after the show.” 

“Love you,” he responded, laughing. “I promise I’ll come home in one piece.” 

“I’ll hold you to that, Roger Taylor.” 

* * * * * 

Once Corin had returned from Blackpool, your life returned to its regular schedule. Things were proving to be a little more difficult to manage without Meredith around to work evenings in the shop, so in anticipation of the busy exam season coming up, you decided to hire a part-time employee to help out. After posting some flyers on bulletin boards in a few local businesses, receiving resumes, and conducting a few interviews, you hired Anna, a first-year English literature student at King’s College. 

After explaining the shop’s organizational system (shelved in subject groups, alphabetically by author’s last name) and giving Anna a general rundown on tasks she would need to complete throughout the evening, she started her first shift. To your delight, she was a gifted salesperson, and quickly picked up the necessary skills. She wiped down tables in a timely manner, filled the coffee maker when it was empty, and was efficient at finding books for customers. For some reason, however, Corin was slow to warm up to her. 

One evening, as you were preparing your son’s lunch for the day, you decided to invite Anna to stay for tea, wanting to get to know her better. The shop was closed for the evening, and she was just counting cash at the kitchen table when you had the idea. 

“Anna,” you said, “I’ve just put the kettle on, and I have some pastries Corin and I picked up from the bakery this morning. Would you like to stay for tea?” 

“I don’t want to intrude,” she said hesitantly. 

“It’s no trouble at all, dear,” you smiled, placing Corin’s lunch kit in the fridge. “I just thought it might be nice to get to know you a little better.” 

“That would be nice,” Anna replied. “I guess I don’t know much about you, other than what I’ve learned about the shop.” As you lifted the box of pastries from the counter, you noticed a slip of paper beneath it. On it was a short list of books, which you had written down after a phone call from a customer earlier in the day. 

“Whoops, must have forgotten about this,” you exclaimed. “I just need to grab a few books from the shop, Anna. There’s an order here for pick-up tomorrow at 10:00, and I won’t have a chance to do it before Corin has to go to school.” Hearing his name, your son came bouncing down the stairs, all ready for bed in his dinosaur pyjamas. 

“Cor, why don’t you give Anna a little tour of the house while I put this order together,” you suggested. Your son, who tended to be a chatty little fellow, chewed nervously on his lower lip. “It’ll take less than 3 minutes, and then we can have snack, alright?” 

“That would be nice,” Anna smiled. “Would that be alright, Corin?” She held out a hand to him, which he hesitantly grasped with his small fingers. You went into the shop, leaving them alone in the kitchen. 

“This is the kitchen,” Corin mumbled, “where Mummy cooks. “And this,” he said, leading Anna behind him, “is the sitting room.” He pulled her past the stairs to a small room looking out onto the backyard. A large window provided a view of the back garden, which glistened with a touch of February frost. Anna looked about the room. Her eyes fell upon the wall above the sofa, on which hung a collection of photos. 

“Can you tell me who these people are?” Anna asked, indicating the photos. 

“This is me and Mummy,” Corin explained, pressing a finger against the glass of each frame. “And this is me and my Daddy.” He pointed to his new cousin Eleanor and her parents and photos of his grandparents. 

“What’s this one doing up here?” Anna questioned, pointing to a group photo of the boys on tour last year. “Does your mum really like this band or something? I’ve been to a few of their shows.” 

“Those are Daddy’s friends,” Corin frowned, touching the glass over each face. “See? Here’s Uncle Fred, Uncle Deac, and Uncle Bri. Daddy took the picture, I’m pretty sure.” 

“Are you sure?” Anna asked sceptically. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen those guys before.” She gestured at the photo of a dark-eyed man holding Corin, who had been 6 months old at the time. “Isn’t this your dad?” 

“No, he’s my first dad,” Corin huffed. “Look, I’ll show you.” He grabbed Anna’s hand again and led her up the stairs into your bedroom. Centred on the wall above your bed was your favourite photograph. John had taken it in the fall, and had it framed for you and Roger as a Christmas gift. It had been taken in Richmond Park on an afternoon outing with Corin, Roger and the boys. 

“Here’s Daddy and Mummy holding me,” Corin exclaimed. “Daddy’s wearing his favourite sunglasses, and Mum’s smile is so big because Uncle Bri was making a silly face at her.” Anna scrutinized the photograph for a moment before looking down at Corin. 

“What’s your dad’s name?” she asked. 

“Roger,” Corin said slowly, confused. “But only grown-ups call him that.” 

“Is your dad kind of…famous?” Anna questioned, peering at the photo again. If you had been in the room, you might have described her expression as ‘star-struck’. 

“No, he’s my dad!” Corin snapped. “He takes me to cricket, and makes my lunch, and always tucks me in at night. He’s not famous.” 

“Sorry, Corin,” Anna apologized, feeling awkward about the situation. Having heard Corin’s raised voice, you hurried up the stairs to check on him. 

“Everything alright, you two?” you asked, stepping into your room. Corin, whose arms were crossed over his chest, frowned up at you. 

“Yep, no problems,” Anna said quickly. “I think Corin’s just ready for dessert, right?” At the reminder of pastries, Corin zipped past you and ran down the stairs to grab the brownie he had chosen for himself that morning. 

“Sorry, he gets a little grouchy if he hasn’t had a snack by this time of night,” you explained. 

“I get it,” Anna shrugged nonchalantly. 

“So, what do you think of the place?” you asked, gesturing towards the stairs. “Old but kind of cool, hey?” 

“Definitely,” Anna replied. “Corin was just showing me pictures of your family. Is the picture in your bedroom of you and Corin’s dad?” Something in her voice struck you as strange, but you dismissed the feeling. 

“My boyfriend Roger, actually. Corin’s dad died in a car accident about 4 years back,” you answered. “Roger is away for work right now, so Cor and I are on our own for a bit.” 

“Oh, okay,” Anna nodded. She kept her other questions to herself, as you didn’t elaborate any further on the subject. The rest of the evening passed without issue, and after sitting down to tea for a half hour, Anna went home. 

As you tucked Corin in, he reached up and put his hands on your cheeks, holding your face gently. His dark eyes were quizzical instead of tired tonight, even though it was past his bedtime. 

“Is Daddy famous?” Corin asked, staring into your eyes. 

“That’s an odd question,” you frowned. “Lots of people go to his shows, I guess, but I don’t know that I’d say he’s famous. Why do you ask?” 

“Just wondering,” Corin deflected, releasing his grip on your cheeks. You hovered above him for a moment, trying to decide whether to probe further. 

“Have you been thinking about Daddy a lot today, Cor?” 

“I wish he could just be home,” Corin mumbled, pulling Roger’s t-shirt from beneath his pillow, where he had stashed it earlier that morning. 

“We’re going to see one of his London shows two nights from now, and then he’ll be home in 2 weeks for a bit before he goes to America,” you explained, curling up on the bed beside your son. “Daddy says we can visit him before and after the show. How does that sound?” 

“Good,” he yawned. Not caring enough to change into pyjamas for the night, you switched the bedside lamp off and pulled Corin towards you. Having him beside you felt natural, but also a bit strange – Roger had been sleeping by your side for more than half a year, and without him, the bed felt empty. 

Around midnight, the sound of scraping metal woke you from your sleep. The back door squeaked as it swung open and shut, and the lock clicked back into place a moment later. A soft voice whispered from the bottom of the stairs, 

“Don’t worry, love, it’s just me.” 

* * * * * 

CROYDON, ENGLAND – MARCH 10, 1974 

“Aren’t you going to join us for a drink, Rog?” Freddie called across the room. The show, a roaring success, had concluded an hour before, but after chatting with fans, it had taken some time to get back to their dressing room. 

“I don’t think so, Fred,” Roger replied, tucking a handful of drumsticks into his bag. “We’re in London for the night, and we don’t need to be at the Roundhouse tomorrow until what, 4:00?” 

“Well, no, but—” 

“Give him a break, Fred,” Brian said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “He’s been dying to get home, you know that.” It had been less than two weeks, but Brian was right – Roger felt as if he’d been away from home for much longer. 

“There’ll be other nights that we’ll be all together,” John reminded Freddie. “America’s just around the corner, so we’ll let Rog be at home as much as he likes until then.” Roger winked appreciatively at John when Freddie wasn’t looking. John and Brian, who both had serious girlfriends, albeit no children, so they somewhat understood his feeling. 

“You guys go without me,” Roger insisted. “We did well tonight, and I don’t mind if you go out for a celebratory pint or two.” 

“I’ll knock back a few on your behalf,” John promised. “And Fred will too, I’m sure.” 

“Cab’s out front, Rog!” Brian called from down the hall. 

“See you three tomorrow,” Roger smiled, waving at his bandmates. “Fred, be reasonable, will you? Brian’ll lose his shit if you can’t remember the words to his songs.” John snorted, and quickly covered his mouth to hide his laughter. 

“Just for you, I’ll take it easy, darling,” Freddie rolled his eyes. Roger threw his bag over his shoulder and stepped out into the hall. As he passed Brian, he put an arm around him and patted his back in a short, familiar hug. 

“Say hello to Y/N and the little guy for us,” Brian asked, tearing into a sandwich he had been saving for after the show. 

“Will do,” Roger promised. “Keep John away from the tequila, now.” 

“Just because you’re going home to sleep doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun!” Brian hollered after him. Roger opened the door of the cab and ducked in. After giving the driver instructions, he leaned back into his seat with a deep sigh. 

“Long day at work, sir?” the cabbie asked, meeting Roger’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. 

“Always,” Roger shook his head. “Makes going home to the family one hell of a relief, though.” The driver made good time through the late-night traffic, dropping Roger off outside the shop just a few minutes before midnight. Recalling the last time he had come home late, Roger was careful to enter the house quietly. At the bottom of the stairs, he thought to announce himself – he knew your aversion to home invasions (a common fear, to be sure). 

“Don’t worry, love, it’s just me,” he called. Roger slipped his boots off before walking upstairs. The bathroom light was still on, a request Corin often made when he was nervous about the darkness. The sliver of light from the door allowed Roger to see that you and Corin were snuggled together on his side of the bed. 

“Roger?” you whispered, squinting up at him. 

“Robbers don’t usually take their shoes off at the door, love,” he said softly, kissing your forehead. Stripping out of the clothes he had worn to the gig, Roger pulled a pair of tartan pyjamas from his overnight bag. He climbed into bed on your side, nestling himself in behind you. 

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you yawned, reaching out to lay a hand on his bare chest. 

“I wanted to wake up next to you,” Roger explained as he leaned in to kiss you. You could tell from his voice and slow movements that he was exhausted. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” you smiled against his lips. “We’ve missed you.” 

“Brian’s not as much fun to snuggle,” Roger teased. “Close your eyes, now, alright? I don’t want to wake Corin.” 

“He’ll be so excited to see you,” you assured him. “He’s been asking for you all day and every night at bedtime.” 

“Well, we’d better get to bed, then,” Roger advised. “Last I checked, he gets up at 6:00am whether we want him to or not.” You breathed out a sigh of contentment and relief as Roger tucked himself tight against you. His arm stretched over you and rested on Corin’s shoulder. 

“Thanks for coming home tonight, Roger,” you breathed. “This is a wonderful surprise.” 

“I needed the loves of my life,” Roger answered, pressing a kiss against the back of your neck. “Anywhere is home as long as I’m with the two of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The bit about the new employee at the shop matters, I swear. Bear with me, friends. Next segment won't be so freakishly long, I promise.


End file.
